


If It Ain't Broke

by overlymetaromantic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Sickfic, and therein lies the problem, individual warnings will be in the opening chapter notes, injury fic, lance loves everyone and everyone loves lance, the comfort comes later sorry lance, various misuses of the word quiznak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlymetaromantic/pseuds/overlymetaromantic
Summary: A 5 plus 1:  Five times Lance takes a hit for the team, and one time the team takes a hit back.





	1. Shiro

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I started writing this shortly after season two aired; and then season three aired; and then four, and after having canon thrown out on me twice I decided to just say heck it and set this sometime around season two, so feel free to read in the dramatic irony as you see fit :'D
> 
> In case anyone wants injury warnings, Lance manages to crush his hand in this chapter. Whoops.

In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been Lance’s greatest idea to think his tiny, fleshy human hand would stand even the remotest chance against a steel-ton Galra brand door. There’s a reason they say hindsight’s a bitch, he supposes, but in the moment, the only thing that had mattered was he _not_ get separated from Shiro in the middle of what turned out to be a less than abandoned base, and so the second he saw it start to close and Shiro was still on the other side, his body had moved on automatic and he made a grab for the door.

This particular mission Allura has sent them on was to take down a communication tower that had seemingly been left to rot but could be a concerning asset for the Galra empire should they remember it existed. So of course, it’s devolved into the same scenario as every other time—a mission gone wrong, a surprise enemy attack, and now what should have been an easy in-and-out destroy the evil thing of the week has turned into yet another struggle for their lives.

Which, y’know. It’s cool! All in a day’s work as a paladin. There’s gotta be some give and take what with the whole being saviors of the universe thing, though Lance could have done with a little less imminent danger this time around.

Despite the fact that Lance likes to think he’s gained some muscle since becoming a paladin, his weight is no match for the door’s unrelenting mechanical slide. He briefly manages to catch Shiro’s eye where he’s punching a sentry in the face before his whole body jerks forward with the door. Lance feels something pop in his shoulder as he clings with all his might in what would have been a very concerning way, if not for the fact that his fingers being crushed by an unforgiving block of metal is infinitely more agonizing.

Lance lets out a yell of pain and slams his foot against the wall in a futile attempt to wrench his hand free because _sweet quiznak_ it _hurts_. It’s a small mercy then that his sacrifice leaves a large enough gap for Shiro to shove his significantly less squishable hand through and force open the door. Lance instantly starts to crumple in relief, only for Shiro to seize him by the arm and take off running.

By the time Shiro deems them in the clear to hide, Lance feels nearly delirious, every breath tinged with pain because it’s impossible to keep his arm wholly still with each heave of his chest. His glove feels disturbingly wet, and he really does not want to know what his hand looks like right now.

"Lance, I need your status report," he hears Shiro say through the buzzing in his ears. It’s likely not the first time he’s tried to get Lance’s attention since stopping, if the edge in his voice is anything to go by.

"Uh," Lance manages. "Not great?" He can think of a few other choice words that better fit his mood, but they’re all the kind that would result in Shiro being very disappointed in him, and he doesn’t want Shiro to be any more disappointed in him than he already is.

It’s a rarity in and of itself that Lance gets to be Shiro’s chosen partner for a mission like this. He was only brought on this mission because, as he’d argued, of the weapons in their roster, sniping the thing down would be quick, discreet, and significantly more practical than a sword, _Keith_. He’s actually still surprised that argument worked, though that now leads to the problem at hand.

Shiro is absolutely vital to making sure really any of their missions don’t crash and burn, and there would have been no chance of success if it had ended up being Lance on his own. But while there’s no use in regretting the particulars, right now, with his entire right side feeling like it’s burning, Lance can’t help but feel like all he’s accomplished is becoming a burden. He came on this mission because of his aim. So what’s the use of a sharpshooter who can’t even shoot?

"Alright, let’s take a look. Can you bend your hand?" Shiro asks softly. He reaches over to lift up Lance’s wrist, and Lance entirely fails to swallow down a whimper at the touch. He shrinks in on himself at Shiro’s concerned look—if Shiro didn’t already know Lance has possibly ruined the mission, he’s all but confirmed it now. Lance grits his teeth and forces his fingers to flex. At least three quarters are capable of movement—stiff, but bendable.

"Well it doesn’t look like anything’s broken, at least," Shiro says after a few beats of Lance carefully moving his hand and wrist, but then he sighs, and Lance immediately feels his stomach twist in on itself. "We should pull out, we need to get you checked."

Great, just great; good job, Lance, way to let his idol down. The panic at the thought overrides the pain, and he jerks forward. "No, it’s okay, I can still—"

There’s a sound from just beyond their hiding place, and thank God Lance has the self-preservation to immediately snap his mouth shut. He doesn’t quite stop another small whine of pain from slipping through, but it’s soft enough that Shiro only gives him the briefest of worried glances before he shifts around the wall they’ve tucked themselves behind to take stock of the situation. A Galra guard strides past about twenty feet away, clearly on the hunt for the base’s intruders. Lance hears Shiro let out a slow breath through his teeth. It’s arguably the only lucky break of the day they’ve had so far that there’s only one.

"Stay here," Shiro orders and slips out as soon as the Galra has its back to them, his arm already starting to glow by his side. Lance waits approximately four ticks before he immediately dodges out from the corner as far as he can go while still being out of the Galra’s line of sight. There’s no way he can run and catch up with his right side as it is, aching from shoulder to fingertip, much less be useful in a fight. Shiro’s holding his own fine anyway—of course he is, he’s _Shiro_ —so Lance takes advantage of the fight to take a quick survey of their surroundings.

They’ve made it outside, which likely explains the lone patrolman. Lance has a better view of the base as a whole from here, but there’s not a whole lot to the landscape beyond the crumbling walls he’s using for cover surrounding a dingy courtyard that Shiro and the Galra are now fighting in. Shiro takes a rather nasty sounding hit from the Galra and goes stumbling back, and Lance only realizes he’s reached for his bayard when his hand flares up at the motion. There has to be _something_ he can do from this position, injury be damned. Lance scopes out the base with a renewed fervor. This time he spies a wobbly wire structure reaching up towards the sky, and that—that has to be the communication tower.

Lucky break number two! The universe is really on a roll today.

Lance can see why this place was left behind—the tower looks like it’s been rusted through, to the point where a strong enough breeze could knock it over. In fact, it would probably hurt a lot if it fell on someone from that height. Lance’s hand twitches by his side; even that small a movement hurts, but not so bad that he can’t put up with it long enough to prove himself useful to Shiro—two birds, one stone.

"Shiro, can you lead him towards your left," he says into the helmet’s comm as he fumbles with his bayard, trying to balance it on his knee to compensate for the lack of cooperation with his arm. Shiro gives the slightest of starts as he dodges another attack, but he shifts his footing to start leading the Galra closer to the tower.

Steeling himself, Lance lines up his shot, breathes past the protest of pain that shoots through his hand, and pulls the trigger.

His shot hits true. Lance feels the briefest spark of triumph before recoil sends a burst of pain that shrieks up his arm.

"Motherfucker fucking _fuck_!" At least the tower takes care of the Galra. And the tower itself. Also Lance feels like he might pass out, or maybe be sick, but that’s neither here nor there as Shiro offers a wry grin at where Lance has collapsed on the ground.

"Nice shot."

"I aim to please," Lance starts to gesture, except that requires moving, and the millisecond his arm so much as twitches he remembers with frankly unnecessary quality why moving is a _terrible idea_. He catches Shiro’s look. "Hey, broken in one spot or a million, healing pod’s gonna fix it all the same."

"Well we don’t want you to go losing your entire arm," Shiro says as he crouches down and carefully helps Lance up into a sitting position. Lance thinks he’s grinning back, but his head mostly feels like its spinning in circles so it’s a bit difficult to tell what exactly his face his doing.

"You mean you don’t want to be amputee buddies? Shiro, I’m hurt."

Shiro huffs out a laugh. "Right. If you can make jokes like that, then you’re fine."

"I actually kind of feel like I’m dying," Lance offers conversationally, to which Shiro immediately says, “Right, okay, we’re getting you back to the ship _now_.”


	2. Hunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Have a new chapter, in which Lance gets a concussion.

There isn’t any _real_ reason why Lance thinks Blue would be a better shield against an attack than the Yellow Lion—the actual _tank_ of Team Voltron, like he can’t take taking a hit, but. Lance sees the robeast fire, hears Hunk’s startled shout, _feels_ his flash of fear, and the next thing he knows he’s being blasted in Hunk’s place and Hunk’s fear is now being directed wholly at him.

It’s a rather unfortunate domino effect:  the blast hits Blue in the back and Lance snaps forward with the lurch, his head slamming against the dash, only to immediately be thrown back against the seat when Blue goes crashing into the canyon they’ve corralled the creature in. His helmet adds insult to injury as it rattles against his head a second behind the rest of his body and he might actually black out for a few seconds.

He zones back in to hear Hunk mid-ramble, his panic like a physical presence in the cockpit thanks to the Lions’ bond. Lance blinks a couple of times. His head _really_ hurts.

"Lance? Lance, buddy, talk to me, oh God—"

"’m here," Lance finally manages to mumble. Hunk inhales sharply enough that Lance can hear it through the comms, and he launches into a still heavily panicked babble that Lance for the life of him cannot focus on. His brain feels like it’s swimming through his skull as he slumps forward in his seat. His ears are ringing and everything feels heavy, not to mention the _headache_. It feels like he’s supposed to be going through a checklist to see if he’s concussed, but he can’t recall what he’s meant to be checking for. Isn’t memory loss a sign of a concussion? He can’t remember.

Lance sees a bright light in the corner of his eye that might be the robeast rearing up for another attack. His senses feel muted underneath the pain in his head, but he’s able to register enough that—yup, that is an incoming attack and it’s a heartbeat too late to dodge out of the way. Blue must be hurt too if her instincts are just as sluggish as his, and Lance’s stomach twists in worry even as he tries to brace himself for what with his luck will be his second concussion in as many minutes.

"No, no, no you don’t!" he hears Hunk yell, and then sees Hunk physically _slam_ his Lion into the robeast like some sort of football tackle. He isn’t sure who’s panic he’s feeling now—Hunk’s, or his own—but Hunk barely gives the robeast enough time to ricochet off the canyon walls before his Lion bears his claws down on it, blasting a laser beam directly to its face.

That takes the monster out, to say the least. It’s a good thing Lance took that hit instead of Hunk, he could never have pulled off a finishing move like that on his own. There’s a soft push of concern from Blue and Lance hastily changes tracks before his thoughts spiral in the direction Blue is worried about. He grits his teeth. That hurts too, but it’s a concentrated sort of pain that’s under his control, and he’s able to focus enough to starting guiding her towards the ground, albeit with his vision still swaying.

"Great, okay, good, now we can go—Lance, where are you going? Lance? Lance!"

"Gotta do the diplomacy, dude." Lance’s voice sounds muted even to his own ears, the fact that his head won’t stop pulsing not particularly helping. "Can’t just fight and ditch."

"But—"

"Allura," Lance says, and while he intends to expand more on that, he finds himself unable to continue the sentence thanks to a sudden wave of nausea, but Hunk’s deeply resigned sigh implies he understands anyway. Lance swallows against the burn in his throat; his stomach is still churning, but offers no further active protests, so Lance continues this time. "I’m fine, buddy, we can finish the mission, woo some aliens, and head back to the Castle, ’kay?"

"I’ll be the judge of that," Hunk grumbles, but he follows Lance down nonetheless.

***

It’s been a decently simple recon mission, all in all—or at least, as simple as any missions that involve distress signals can be, what with at least sixty percent of them turning out to be traps. This one at least wasn’t, though that carries it’s own set of problems, since—well, it’s a distress beacon, there’s a reason for the distress. Pidge and Keith were sent to where the suspected beast was said to dwell, and Shiro elected to work with them, so that left Hunk and Lance to investigate the town that was the target of the attacks. And it turns out Lance and Hunk got the luck of the draw this time around:  one of Haggar and co’s robeasts had gone rogue on the town, and considering it was just Lance and Hunk, the fight went about as well as you could expect.

Which is to say, Hunk kicked ass and Lance has a mighty fine bruise forming on his face to show for his own efforts. They did beat the bastard, though. Lance may potentially have mild brain damage because of it, but he will take whatever victories he can get.

His headache isn’t better per se, but it’s less prevalent, at least at a point where he’s so used to the pounding he’s almost able to ignore it as Blue touches down on the planet. More like someone keeps hitting his head with a mallet rather than stabbing it repeatedly with a knife. He still stumbles getting out of his seat, legs shaking as his gut protests the change in movement. He swallows again and forces himself outside. He may feel like shit, but he’s the one who insisted they finish the mission, and he’s not going to leave Hunk out on his own.

Blue is definitely going to need repairs and some TLC—there are burn marks down her back and deep scratches in her side from their earlier crash. Pidge is not going to be happy with him for that. Lance gives her an apologetic pat that also may or may not be his primary means of not falling over as he leans heavily on his hand.

"Lance?" Hunk’s hand lands on Lance’s shoulder and he shifts him around, letting out a panicked noise when the movement nearly causes Lance to topple over. "Ahhh, no, no, we’re heading back, you are not—"

"Could it be, the Paladins of Voltron have truly returned!"

Lance is able to focus enough past his headache to see a crowd of aliens all staring up at them with shining eyes. Hunk grips at his shoulder a little tighter as Lance straightens himself as best he can and flashes what he hopes is a successful smile.

"Uh—"

"That we have!" Lance speaks up over Hunk, and the next thing he knows they’re being ushered away from their Lions by a mob of enthusiastic aliens.

Lance can’t actually remember the name of the locals, which—he’s like, eighty percent sure that’s a bad sign, but he’d also shifted in and out of focus a lot during Allura’s opening lecture, so. It’s a little hard to judge. They’re small:  about half his height on average, they’re humanoid in shape, but their hair looks more like feathers and their skin colors range from soft purples to dusky blues. They must have developed to match their home, the canyon landscape a deep royal navy rather than the dusty reds of Earth. It would be very pretty if it didn’t actively hurt to look at.

Considering Hunk is having no issues functioning, Lance is going to chalk that more up to the way his eyeballs still feel like they’re throbbing than anything about the planet itself. He does his best to focus on Hunk working his magic; for as nervous as Hunk tends to get, it’s impossible not to immediately love him. Hunk’ll win the aliens over no problem, which is a good thing considering Lance is currently incapable of concentrating on anything other than the ache in his head and the nausea still simmering just below his throat.

"Sir Paladin, are you all right?"

It takes Lance a moment to realize he’s been staring blankly at his feet. He looks up at the squeak of a voice to see a tiny lavender alien blink their—four eyes, there are four eyes, blinking down at him, and he is definitely out of it considering this is the _first time he’s noticed this_. Also the fact that he’s looking up at them is distinctly odd, seeing as they’re only about four feet tall, and he realizes he’s on the ground. When did he sit down?

"Lance?" he hears in the distance, but he’s entirely incapable of locating the source. His head hurts, everything hurts; all he wants is to go to sleep. Things hurt less when you’re asleep.

"Nope! Aborting mission!" The next thing Lance knows, Hunk is by his side and he’s being hauled up over his shoulder. A whine slips from his throat at the jostling movement. "Sorry, sorry!" Hunk says, but he doesn’t slow down.

By the time they reach the Yellow Lion, Lance’s heart feels like its beating against his eardrums in time with the throbbing in his head. Hunk carefully sets him against the wall once he manages to maneuver Lance’s dead weight into the Lion before racing over to the dashboard. "Come in—anyone, I need anyone to come in, please!"

"I hear you, Hunk," Keith’s voice comes in through the comms. Lance slides a little further down the side of the Lion with a groan. Of course it’s _Keith_.

"Keith!" Hunk’s voice nearly cracks in relief. "Keith, buddy, thank God, we’re gonna need someone to pick up the Blue Lion, Lance got a concussion, he can’t fly right now." Hunk glances over his shoulder to see Lance now slumped down on the floor and jerks halfway out of his seat. "Oh, no no no, c’mon, Lance, I need you to stay awake, buddy, okay?"

"How’d he manage to get a concussion?" Even through the crackle of the comms, Lance can hear the underlying mock of the question. His head throbs.

"Fuck off, Keith," Lance says—or, tries to say, it doesn’t appear he succeeded if Hunk’s noise of distress is anything to go by. And that’s not okay, Hunk shouldn’t be in distress, he’s not the one who was idiotic enough to crack open his skull with his own helmet. Lance would get up to comfort him if his head didn’t feel so heavy.

"Please hurry," Hunk whimpers, and Keith immediately responds, "On it," sounding much more serious than before.

"Sorry, Hunk," Lance eventually manages to mumble. Hunk makes a strangled sort of noise that only succeeds in making Lance feel even worse, but because Hunk is the best, he turns in his seat to look back at Lance with a wobbly smile.

"You can apologize after you get healed up, you jerk," he says, and despite everything, Lance grins back.


	3. Pidge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a very minor blood cw, since Lance gets shot in the stomach. So that's fun!!!

Lance had been nine years old the first time he got in a proper fight.

It was about as cliche as a playground duel could get:  Lance found out some jerk had been picking on his baby sister for being chubby, and had promptly hunted him down during lunch and punched him in the face hard enough to hurt his own hand. Unfortunately, the kid gave as good as he got and Lance was sent home early that day with a bloody nose and a serious reprimand from his teacher.

He’d been proud of himself in that moment, his baby sister sniffling next to him as she clutched at his hand. He’d done right as a big brother, though going home with blood running down his face was a less than pleasant experience, to say the least. After running the gauntlet of being lectured by his mom, his aunt, his other aunt, his grandmother, his older sister, and his dad, his older brother had quietly taken him aside and showed him how to properly throw a punch. And so, Lance had marched into school the next day with his head held high despite the bruising, sought out the jerk one more time, and this time managed to successfully knock out his tooth, even if he did get a black eye in the process.

His older brother had joined in on the lecture train that time around, though he’d given Lance’s hair a quick ruffle before leaving him to face his mother’s wrath. Lance is still not entirely sure what lesson he was meant to take out of the incident—either don’t get in fights, or punch better so you don’t get punched back—but the point is, Lance understands the instinct to do stupid things for the sake of family. So when Pidge breaks away from him mid-mission in a direction they definitely hadn’t agreed on going, Lance immediately follows her without a second thought.

"Pidge?" he calls out after her. Pidge offers a grunt of acknowledgment that he exists before she rounds a corner, Lance catching up just in time to see her kick in a door.

"What are you doing?" he asks, though really the giant computer-like machine that fills most of the room pretty much answers that question. Something starts beeping that feels concerningly like an alarm, and Pidge jabs in a sequence of buttons. "Pidge, this seems like a bad idea," he hedges. Pidge lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"I was looking at the map of the base, and this is the main hub, any and all data gets stored here," she answers rather than address his concerns. She punches one final button and the beeping goes silent, and she starts pulling up what might be files in rapid succession. "There’s a good chance it has information on my dad, or Matt." Her voice goes tight at the end, and she takes out a space USB drive, redirecting her distress into jamming the device into the mainframe. A loading bar pops up on the screen. _1%. 2%._

There’s a noise outside the door. Lance glances at Pidge, who just jerks her head to the side to indicate he should go check it out. She doesn’t look away from the computer once, her arms gripping at each other across her chest, so Lance lets out a sigh to rival Pidge’s earlier one and trudges towards the door. He hears her scoff, but her shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

Lance pops his head outside, only to immediately lock eyes with a very large, very growly Galra. With a sharp inhale, he jerks himself back inside the room and shoves the door shut with a snap. Pidge looks at him flatly.

Lance takes a deep breath. "So there appear to be are a load of angry Galra on their way."

Pidge lets out an irritated hiss, and Lance follows her gaze down to the computer screen. The loading bar’s made it up to twenty-two percent.

"Pidge?" he tries one last time.

" _Dammit_." Pidge activates her bayard, and then turns on Lance when he fails to follow suit. "You’re here to provide cover, aren’t you?" she demands. "So cover me!"

Technically Lance is meant to provide cover from a distance, which is not exactly the best repertoire for a room that’s approximately five feet by five feet. He does not bring this point up, because Pidge is angry and armed, and also the Galra are outside.

The sentries burst through the door, guns blazing, but Lance manages to get a shot off first. The first sentry falls back on the guy behind it, who’s own shot goes haywire. The blast hits the wall and the metal plating practically dissolves. Jesus holy crow, do they really think it’s a good idea to be shooting up their own base with blasters like _that_?

Pidge lets out a yelp. "Don’t let them hit the tech!" She darts forward and stabs at a sentry that Lance failed to shoot at the door with her bayard. The robot lights up with electricity before fizzling out on the floor, but there’s already another right behind it. Lance manages to shoot it in the chest, and spins back around towards the door where—oh, good, there’s even _more_ of them. Jerks.

The very vague upside of the situation is that it’s hard to miss in a room so small. Lance does his best to keep the sentries stuck in the doorway, but it’s hard to keep track of everything what with the deadly lasers flying all over the place. Lance sees a shot aimed for Pidge a heartbeat too late to intervene, and there’s not a whole lot more he can do than dive in its way.

The pain is instantaneous. Lance barely registers Pidge’s shout of " _Lance_!" underneath his own choked-off scream. It’s through some minor miracle that he manages to keep his footing enough to return fire—hits it directly in the neck, take _that_ , asshole—and the sentry collapses, leaving a blessedly empty doorway in its wake. Lance coughs wetly and sways on the spot. His entire chest feels like it’s _burning_ ; Lance has never played with acid, but this is how he’d imagine the sensation would feel if he got a stomachful blast of the stuff. He thinks he hears Pidge swear, which would be a lot more entertaining if he didn’t currently feel like fainting, or throwing up, possibly in that order.

"How much more," he manages to rasp.

"What," Pidge says, sounding preoccupied.

"The loading bar." Lance lets out another wet cough. He realizes it’s blood when he sees it splattered on the inside of his visor. So that’s a thing.

"It’s—" Pidge glances distractedly at the screen, "it’s at eighty-three percent." She sounds worried; Lance can hear more reinforcements on their way. "Lance?"

"Alright." Lance has got about twenty percent more in him. That’s fine. This is fine. He hefts his bayard up and takes aim. "Alright."

With no more door to kick in, there’s nothing to prevent Lance from firing the moment he sees the glint of Galra armor. He has to make sure Pidge gets out of here; there are more sentries coming, and Lance will keep shooting as long as he’s able, but he has to get Pidge out of here, he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t get Pidge _out of here_.

Lance isn’t sure how much time passes before he becomes faintly aware of a distant _ping_. Pidge moves behind him in a rush, her voice high with panic as she says, "Okay we got it, it’s good let’s go!"

Lance has a beat to realize the doorway is clear before Pidge shoves at his back to get him to move forward, and there’s no way to physically stop himself from collapsing to his knees.

"Lance? Goddammit, Lance—" Pidge darts around Lance to see him from the front for the first time and her face goes pale. Lance can’t actually register the upper half of his body; it’s nothing but heat and numbness, which is probably bad. Pidge might be shouting at him, but it’s hard to focus past the haze that’s taken over his brain. There’s something dripping, and he notices he’s got his hand pressed against his stomach. He lifts it up to see it’s covered in blood.

"Oh," he says blankly. It hadn’t been doing that before. The world turns sideways, and he only realizes it’s because he’s fallen over when he feels Pidge’s arms desperately trying to keep him from hitting the ground.

"Fuck—fuck, _no_ , Lance, don’t do this, c’mon!" Unfortunately, the burst of pain that comes with the shift in angle is too much for Lance to handle. His vision is rapidly fading and he coughs again, which just makes everything worse. The last thing he hears before he passes out is Pidge’s shouting, and faint footsteps in the distance.

"Shiro? _Shiro, help_!"

***

To his dim surprise, it’s Keith’s arms he finds himself in when the healing pod releases him with an unceremonious flop.

Keith seems to be just as thrown if the look on his face is anything to go by. He probably caught Lance on nothing but pure instinct, though that does bring up the question of why he was so close that he could accidentally catch Lance like that. The bastard better not have been trying to mess with his pod.

"How are you feeling?" Shiro asks. Keith immediately passes Lance off to him and backs away a good few feet, which feels frankly unnecessary. Lance starts to answer, only to be cut off by a bearhug from Hunk, who lets out a wail of " _Lance_!" as he crushes him against his chest. Lance manages to offer a thumbs up to Shiro, his mouth mashed up against Hunk’s armpit.

"It seems the blasters the Galra were using had more corrosive properties than usual," Coran pipes up. Hunk, who had loosened his grip enough that Lance could turn his head, immediately tightens it again. Lance starts tapping out against his chest. "That was a rather nasty hit you took—I’d hate to think what would have happened if the paladin armor wasn’t as stalwart as it is!" Despite his cheery tone, Coran’s relief is evident, and Lance can see a similar sentiment reflected on the rest of his team. He can only imagine how they would have reacted if it was Pidge brought back in the state he’d been in. Lance swallows. He is _really_ glad Pidge didn’t take that shot.

Speaking of Pidge, Lance spots her standing on the other side of the room. He pushes himself off of Hunk just enough so he can actually speak. "Hey, Pidge, did it—"

"Still checking," Pidge cuts him off. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, but she walks over to him, a scowl on her face. She glares at his stomach like it’s personally offended her. "You could’ve mentioned you were dying on me, y’know, that might’ve been appreciated," she says, poking at the area he’d been injured. Lance squirms under the touch. "What’s the point in getting one family back if it just means sacrificing the other?" she adds in a mumble, and Lance immediately feels his heart swell.

"Aw, _Pidge_ ," Lance starts, only to be cut off by a sharp jab of Pidge’s hand to his newly healed gut.

"I don’t wanna hear one more word outta your mouth, McClain," Pidge snaps, but she still worms her way under Hunk’s arm and squeezes Lance tight.


	4. Allura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a cw for some vague depictions of vomit/throwing up, in case anyone out there is squeamish like me, which is why said depictions are vague :'D

If there’s anything that makes up for the constant nearly-dying-in-danger disclaimer that comes with being a Paladin, it would be the afterparties.

The palace they’re being hosted in is massive, with swirling architecture and pillars and beams that Lance doesn’t have the Earthly terms to describe. The aliens themselves are some sort of cross between humanoid and lizard, with sharp black eyes and shimmering skin. Lance watches in fascination as they keep switching between walking on two legs and scampering up the walls to platforms high out of his own reach. They’re a friendly crowd too, thrilled to still have a palace to celebrate in—frequently the main reason Voltron doesn’t get as many parades as Lance would like is because there is simply no more planet to throw one on, thanks _Galra Empire_ —and they eagerly drink in Lance’s tales, his uniform, and his bayard.

"Now, we want to make sure we are all on our best behavior here, such as not treating our bayards as _toys_ ," Allura says, rather pointedly at Lance, who has been demonstrating his transformation process to an appreciative chorus of _oohs_ and _ahhs_.

"Don’t worry, Allura! I made sure to set phasers to _stun_ ," Lance grins with a flash of finger guns. Allura stares at him for exactly three ticks before she turns away, which admittedly does sting. Keith lets out a sigh to where he’s seated by Lance’s right. Lance sneers at him before snagging a piece of what looks like blue jello off of a passing waiter’s tray and pops it in his mouth. The taste of overripe berries bursts on his tastebuds and he wags his tongue out in surprise. Keith gives him a look.

Lance’s seat offers him an eye line into what appears to be the kitchen, chefs bustling about. But one lizard man catches his eye:  paler green than the rest, Lance sees him slink up towards a platter of prepared food before taking out what looks like a vile, and adding its contents to one of the dishes. He slips away before anyone else notices, as the next moment the tray is swept up by a waiter and brought up to their table.

"Hey," Lance says to no one in particular. "Hey, I think one of those guys back there just added something to our food."

"You mean a chef in the kitchen added something to the food he’s making?" Pidge says blandly. Lance frowns.

"No, no, like, he was being weirdly sneaky about it, I don’t think—"

Keith cuts him off with a kick under the table as Allura and the aliens’ king—Allura had given him a different title than that, but he’s basically a king, so—rise from their seats to welcome the feast. Lance’s frown deepens as he watches the waiter deliberately place each dish in front of its respective paladin. The pale green alien had seemed very specific in which plate he added his vial to, which means he’s targeting a specific member of the team, and no one’s gotten that dish yet. The waiter places Lance’s food with a flourish, two plates to go. One is given to Shiro:  the untampered one, and that leaves the final dish for Allura. Lance jerks up out of his seat and grabs the plate off the tray before he can think the action through.

"Woah, hang on! Just gonna switch these, don’t mind me!" He offers a bright grin to the clearly startled waiter, though it wilts at Allura’s look of contained fury. "Uh, no offense meant, this looks great but I already had some of this stuff, just trying to expand my pallet, y’know!"

Lance is drawing attention—and specifically the kind of attention Allura warned him against, because they are here to make allies and insulting their customs or their food is Not Good, but neither is potentially attempting an attack on Allura, and Lance really wishes there was a way to convey all that in a glance as Allura continues to stare him down. He can’t exactly come out and accuse one of the beings they just rescued of trying poison them in return, and poisoning their _Princess_ at that, but—

It’s then that he notices the pale green alien is a part of said curious crowd:  they lock eyes and Lance sees him stiffen, and that’s confirmation enough.

Strengthening his resolve, Lance offers Allura a deliberate look that he hopes she interprets correctly. Then he takes a bite, and swallows.

Or, tries to swallow. The food barely makes it down his throat before his body rejects it wholeheartedly. Lance has had some pretty horrific stomachaches before, but this one hits so hard and fast it’s like he’s just be stabbed with a knife. The plate drops from his grasp as he pitches forward.

Hunk and Keith are up out of their seats the moment Lance starts to fall. Keith grabs ahold of him just before he hits the ground, but Lance hastily shoves him off, landing on his hands and knees before he retches. Keith startles back.

"What—" Allura starts, only to clap her hand over her mouth when the bile comes out a murky black.

Lance manages a whimper before his body forces him to heave again, devolving into a coughing fit. He feels feverish, his limbs shaking uncontrollably as he struggles not to throw up in front of his entire team—a battle he is losing rapidly. Keith is hovering awkwardly over where Lance has collapsed, trying to find someone to turn the situation over to. "He ate something earlier and seemed fine!"

"Lance?" he hears Hunk ask at the same time as Coran says, "I’ve got him, I’ve got him." Coran places a gentle hand on Lance’s arm before he hauls him up. The noise of protest that slips from Lance’s throat is truly embarrassing, but there’s nothing he can do to prevent it, not with the way all of his organs feel like they’re systematically shutting down on him. He just catches Pidge babbling to Shiro as Coran ushers him out, Hunk hot on his trail.

"He said he saw someone add something to the dish, he didn’t say that something was _poison_!"

***

Coran relocates them to a small, isolated room—possibly a bathroom of some sorts, but the important thing is that it has a large silver basin that Lance can lean heavily against as he tries to catch his breath. Hunk returned to the rest of the team as soon as he was sure Coran knew exactly what was happening with Lance’s biology, and Lance already misses his presence like a limb. If anyone can commiserate the awfulness of having your stomach rebel against your body, it’s Hunk.

The last time he felt this sick, he’d been thirteen and had come down with a truly nasty case of the stomach flu. His mom had to stay home with him for nearly a week before he could start to hold food down again. Lance hated the feeling then and hates it now, but at least back then he _had_ his mom, her gentle touches and soft words as he rode through the worst of the flu. It’s not the time nor the place for nostalgia, but heck he’s already crying anyway, so he lets the sob that’s been clawing at his throat out, only to pound a fist against the basin in frustration when the action makes him heave all over again. He wants his mom, dammit, he wants to not feel like he’s dying from poison, and he wants to _stop throwing up_. _God_ he misses home.

"There you go, lad, get it all out." Coran smooths a hand against Lance’s forehead. The coolness a welcome contrast to the fever biting at Lance’s skin, and he leans heavily into the touch. He hears Coran make a noise before he starts to move his other hand up and down Lance’s back. Coran isn’t a bad substitute, all things considered, though the thought just makes him want to cry all over again. He lets out a soft hiccup; his mouth tastes acrid and his throat burns, but his stomach stays settled long enough for him to take a breath, then two.

"Better?" Coran asks.

"Better" is really an objective word, considering Lance’s everything hurts like a bitch. Still, he isn’t vomiting, and he isn’t coughing, so he manages a small nod that Coran echoes. He feels Coran move about, and Lance glances up through blurry vision to see Coran offer him a small glass filled with a dark, thick-looking liquid. "I’ll need you to drink this," he says. It looks terrible, but Lance isn’t completely convinced he won’t die of thirst before he dies of poisoning, so he accepts the glass and downs it. He has a half-second to grimace at the way the drink coats his insides before it curdles into something horrifically solid and he immediately pitches forward to vomit again. Coran hastily returns to soothing his hand along Lance’s spine.

"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, m’boy, we’ve got to make sure you get it all out."

Lance manages a shaky thumbs up. He feels disgusting, but less like he’s actively dying, his heart finally slowing down from the rabbit-pace that had been hammering at his chest. Coran passes him another glass, this time filled with a clear liquid that Lance has long since learned to stop assuming is water. Despite the fact that the first concoction technically worked, Lance can’t help but eye the drink suspiciously.

"I promise this one isn’t made for you to promptly start upchucking again," Coran says, his mustache twitching with a smile. "Think you can hold it down?" he follows up as Lance cautiously takes a sip. Lance swallows, nods, then immediately shakes his head as the motion sets his stomach off one more time. It takes a couple of seconds of gagging before Lance regains enough breath to try again, and he manages to hold it down this time.

"How do you feel?" Coran asks after it seems safe that Lance won’t start vomiting again.

"Like quiznak," Lance deadpans. Coran booms out a laugh and claps a firm hand on his shoulder to help him stand.

They reenter the main dining hall to see the rest of the team surrounding the pale green alien, who is kneeling with his hands bound in front of the king. Everyone looks varying degrees of thunderous, which makes sense—attempting to poison the Princess is a pretty serious crime.

"Blue Paladin," the king speaks up as he catches sight of Lance and Coran, and the rest of the team startle out of their glaring to follow his gaze. "It is good to see you well."

"Takes more than a little bad food to bring me down," Lance replies easily. Hunk’s face immediately clears as soon as he catches sight of Lance; Shiro’s expression doesn’t change, but he nudges Pidge, who shoots him a half-hearted glare, her cheeks ever so slightly pink. Allura and Keith, on the other hand, somehow grow even stormier.

The king, meanwhile, smiles, as much as a lizard person can. "It is indeed a sign of a great leader to inspire such loyalty in her defenders."

"Hey, anything for our Princess," Lance says, swaying a little even as Coran keeps his hand steady on Lance’s shoulder. He still feels like he’s been run over by a truck—and probably looks it too—but he means what he says. Apparently his genuineness bleeds through his exhaustion, because Allura blinks and her expression shifts from glowering at the culprit to staring at Lance like she’s seeing him properly for the first time. Lance’s face warms and he drops his gaze. He hears the king order his guards to take the poisoner away, but before Lance can slip off to the rest of his teammates, Allura approaches him and Coran.

Lance genuinely doesn’t know what to expect to hear as Allura opens her mouth, only for to her pause. Lance nearly breaks the silence with a bad pick-up line because what else _can_ he do when Allura reaches out and rests a hand on Lance’s cheek. "Thank you, Lance," she says, softly, before she moves to return to her duties of spreading the good word of Voltron, leaving Lance with his face burning and Coran chortling beside to him.

***

It takes Lance more time than he cares to admit to gather himself back up after that, so when he spies Hunk sitting on a couch of sorts next to Keith, he makes a beeline. Hunk receives him like a champ, though strangely Keith startles as Lance flops down next to him, his arms jerking up like he was expecting Lance to collapse onto him rather than Hunk. Lance ignores him, feels more than sees him lower his arms back down, and curls up closer to Hunk with a sigh.

"From now on, I’m only eating food made by you," he mumbles into Hunk’s shoulder, to which Hunk replies fiercely, "You’re damn right you are."


	5. Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a cw for some highly glossed over torture, and also Lance getting shot again. S-sorry kiddo, only one more chapter to go!!

It’s stupid, how they ended up here. It’s always stupid when a mission goes wrong, but this one was considered easy enough that Lance and Keith were trusted to pull it off together—though really, even now how could they expect it _not_ to go wrong.

Keith has a cut that hasn’t stopped bleeding scratched long against his cheek, nearly reaching his neck—the only reason the blade didn’t was because of Keith’s lightening reflexes, and Lance really wishes his brain would stop offering him images of what could’ve happened if Keith hadn’t moved as fast as he did. Lance’s own face still smarts from where he took a blow to the nose, and considering it hurts every time he blinks he’s sure the entire thing is one giant bruise. They’ve both been handcuffed and thrown unceremoniously to the ground of a jail cell, Blue is locked in a hangar somewhere, and all in all it’s safe to say the situation is not good.

"How’re you holding up, mullet?" Lance drawls, because if he doesn’t tease he’s probably going to scream, or cry, neither of which he particularly wants to do in front of Keith.

"This is _your_ fault," Keith immediately snarls as he struggles against his handcuffs. Lance starts to snipe back a response, because how exactly is this his fault when Keith’s the one who decided to rush in without a plan, excuse _him_ , when he catches the tail end of a Galra guard saying, "—bring in the red one for questioning."

Lance’s blood runs cold. A brief glance at Keith confirms he heard the same thing, and Keith starts pulling even harder against his restraints. Lance is about eighty percent sure he’s trying to dislocate his thumb, though considering how tight the cuffs are around Lance’s own hands he doesn’t think losing a finger would even help break Keith out.

Which is a problem. Between the two of them, Keith is the important one, both to the enemy and to Voltron. If comes down to it, Keith is the one who needs to make it back. There’s nothing in the stupid cell to help with that, of course, leaving them with Keith and Lance’s own wits, which—basically means they have nothing.

Lance can see the guard approaching the cell door. He catches a flash of a nasty grin as the guard reaches for the bars, and he makes a split-second decision. If it means Keith has his chance to escape, then it’s a bullet he’s willing to bite.

Their captors may have bound their hands, but their legs are still free. Lance hears the click of the lock, and without thinking, rushes the door.

He doesn’t know what his plan is; maybe startle the Galra with his stupidity long enough that Keith can rush past them both. It’s a very Keith-like move, actually—in fact, Lance is pretty sure the only reason Keith doesn’t try it himself is because Lance beat him to the punch. Lance has about a tenth of a tick to appreciate the irony before the guard seizes him by the neck and lifts him off the ground.

"Looks like we have a volunteer," the Galra sneers as Lance kicks fruitlessly against his chest. "If you’re so eager, then let’s see what we can get out of you."

Keith suddenly bursts into action, but the Galra lands a solid kick to his ribcage before he can even fully shoot upright. Keith hits the ground hard, but he gets back up just in time to see Lance being dragged out the door.

"Fuck, _fuck_ no, you’re not taking him— _Lance_!" Keith looks nearly wild as he charges the guard again, only to be knocked right back down. It’s a true testament to how shitty this mission has been that he stays down this time, staring dazedly as Lance desperately tries to communicate with his eyes that this is Keith’s chance to escape, he needs to take it, _please_ let him _take it_ , before Lance is forced out of the cell and Keith disappears from his sight. "LANCE! _LANCE_!"

***

In a word, torture _sucks_.

The worst part is the hallucinations. Every inch of Lance’s body is in some level of pain, to the point where he thinks his brain has stopped properly processing it, but the insult to injury is the flashes of friends and family reaching for him, trying to console, only to dissolve before his eyes over and over again. Lance isn’t sure if it’s a trick from his captors to try to break him or his own brain’s feeble attempts to provide comfort, but either way it’s not very helpful.

Lance watches through hazy eyes as his mom smooths a hand above his bruised face, never quite touching—none of the hallucinations have been able to touch. " _Mijo_ ," she says, " _mijo, ¿cuándo regresarás_?" Lance only manages a small whine in response, but it doesn’t matter; this can’t be real. He hasn’t heard Spanish since he last spoke with his family, nearly two weeks before the whole space lion thing. His stomach twists; he’s been gone for so long, left without a note or anything, and who knows when he’ll make it back, _if_ he’ll make it back—

There’s a shout from outside followed by a thud, and then the door flies open with a crash that echoes throughout the room. The druid has just enough time to turn around before he lets out a grunt and drops to the ground out of Lance’s sight. Lance tries to focus past the rush of panicked adrenaline to see that his mother has vanished, replaced now by an image of Keith.

Another hallucination then. Dammit, Lance really wanted this to be real—the bastard would deserve it. It’s a nice touch of his brain to add the blood dripping from Keith’s bayard, at least, and Lance feels a spike of satisfaction despite his addled state of mind. Keith turns towards where Lance is strapped to the table; they lock eyes, and Keith’s entire body sags forward.

" _Lance_ ," he breathes. His bayard dissolves from his hand out of reality as he rushes over, only to jerk to a halt about a foot away, hovering. He looks upset—no, not upset, it’s something stronger than upset. Keith looks _distraught_ as he takes in Lance’s state. If Lance hadn’t been sure this wasn’t real before, he sure is now. "Lance," Keith says again, "what did they do to you?"

"You’re not here," Lance says instead, his voice coming out like a croak. His throat feels raw, but he’s not about to let some figment of his imagination interrogate information out of him, on the off chance that it’s the enemy’s trick rather than his own. Keith furrows his brow.

"What?"

"You—" Lance would have punctuated this with a poke to the chest, but his hands are tied down, so—"aren’t here. Keith already escaped." Really, of all the people he could be hallucinating right now, why does it have to be Keith? Why couldn’t it be Shiro, or Allura?

Keith continues to look thoroughly baffled. "Well, yeah," he says, sounding unsure. "I escaped, and came here for you. Did—did you think I would leave you behind?"

Lance gives fake-Keith a look that he appears inexplicably hurt by before his face twists into an angry scowl. He turns away, and then before Lance can even blink he’s back with his bayard, slashing the blade down on the restraints trapping Lance to the table.

"Let’s go," Keith snaps, seizing Lance by the shoulder to haul him up on his feet. Except, Lance apparently got his leg hurt at some point because a searing pain shoots up his body the moment he puts weight on the ball of his foot. There is no humanly way possible to stop the noise that rips from Lance’s throat and he pitches forward, Keith only barely catching him from collapsing completely next to the body of the druid.

"Shit, _shit_ , Lance?"

Lance grabs at where Keith is holding him, a shock of solid flesh and blood beneath his hand. None of the other hallucinations have been able to touch him. But that means—

"You’re actually here," Lance gasps. "You were supposed to escape, _why are you here_."

The confusion that had been coloring Keith’s face has now been replaced by utter panic, his grip tightening to the point where it would be painful if literally everything else in Lance’s body didn’t hurt worse. Keith takes a step back, possibly trying to find a better position to keep Lance upright, but the movement causes Lance to put weight on his foot again and he collapses hard against Keith’s shoulder with a gasp.

"Shit, okay, uh—" Keith shifts again. Lance doesn’t so much follow the motion as fall with it, but this time Keith manages to maneuver them in a way that Lance can at least semi-stand against him. "I’ve got you, okay? We’re going to get out of here."

That seems like a highly optimistic take; Lance is such a dead weight that the chances of them getting out of this room are astronomically high, much less making it out of a heavily guarded Galra ship. Still, Keith is nothing if not determined, and soon they’re out the door.

The hallways Keith leads them down are blessedly clear, though to be fair, Lance doesn’t think he could spot an oncoming enemy right now if he tried. The most he can really do is focus on not throwing up; his nerves feel like they’ve been shot to hell and back, every hobbled step echoing the agony he’s in. He might be bleeding somewhere? He can’t tell anymore.

"Here," Keith says suddenly, coming to a halt that Lance entirely fails stop with. Lance whines at the change in the momentum, but Keith shushes him, shooting him a worried glance before peering around the edge of a door. He jerks back with a curse a moment later.

Oh. Ignoring Keith’s sound of concern, Lance takes a look into the next room himself, and yup. Galra. It’s not an uncommon sight by any means by this point, but this time Lance finds himself hit with a cold wave of panic. He doesn’t even realize Keith is reeling him back around against the wall until his hip bumps the panel and his entire left leg _burns_.

"Go," he manages to grit out before Keith can say anything. "I’ll cover you."

"You’re hurt," Keith says like it’s obvious. Lance scowls at him.

"I can still _aim_ ," Lance says. "I don’t need my legs to shoot, just a direction to shoot in."

Keith looks highly reluctant; Lance is distantly aware that he’s still holding onto him, his hand curled around Lance’s arm, keeping him steady. Eventually, though, Keith makes a decision, nodding once before he takes off. The loss of physical contact hits harder than Lance would’ve thought, but he forces himself to shake it off. Lance may not have a very high chance of making it out himself, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see Keith get out of here safe.

It takes barely a moment before Keith’s slashed the first sentry down, a single efficient swipe that sends it crashing into the next one. Lance levels a shot at the third, trying to not let his aim falter with the spike of pain from his leg. Jesus quiznaking _Christ_ everything hurts; he can’t even stand properly upright, having to lean awkwardly against the doorframe as a terrible excuse for cover. Keith’s still going, though, so Lance keeps shooting despite the shake in his hands.

Keith suddenly shouts something, but it’s already too late by the time Lance sees the shot heading straight towards him. That’s the thing about being stuck in one place:  he might be able to aim, but he can’t dodge.

Lance just catches Keith’s horrified expression before a white-hot pain pierces through his collarbone. It’s like every time he’s accidentally stepped on his leg, but a million times worse. Lance gasps, or maybe he screams, he really can’t tell; his senses have gone fuzzy, slumped on the ground, the tips of his gloves growing sticky from where he’s futilely pressed his hand against his chest. There’s a lot of red where there shouldn’t be; red’s Keith’s color, it shouldn’t be staining the outside of Lance’s suit. It feels like he’s floating as Keith swims into view.

" _No_ —" Lance is vaguely aware Keith is talking, but he’s having difficulty latching onto any of the words. "No, Lance, _please_ don’t do this, you weren’t supposed to pull this on _me_!"

Lance feels cold. His vision is fading rapidly, which makes the sensation of being lifted off the ground all the more disorienting.

"We’re getting out, okay? Just, just stay awake, I swear to God we’re getting out of this together and I am _not leaving you behind_."

Keith sounds angry; Lance isn’t sure about what, but if he’s angry then he should’ve just left Lance when he had the chance. Keith’s iron-grip on him somehow manages to tighten; he’s still hissing out words, his tone growing increasingly desperate as Lance fails to respond, but it all abruptly quiets when they enter another room and there’s Blue. She curls around his mind like a hug and Lance sinks into the sensation like a stone. His breath hitches, catching on a sob, and it’s only then he realizes he’s crying.

There’s movement in front of his face, trying to get his attention, and Lance drags his head up enough to register they’ve made it inside the Lion. Blue purrs in the back of his mind, but Keith is still attempting to talk to him, eyebrows knit tight as he gestures towards the pilot’s seat. Lance blinks, piecing together what Keith’s probably trying to say.

"She’ll let you pilot her," he manages. Keith goes still. "I just—wanna go home."

The end of Lance’s sentence runs off into a slurred mumble, but Keith inhales sharply, so he must’ve heard. He pulls Lance in closer and Lance collapses into the hold as he finally feels himself fade away. The last thing he catches is Keith’s desperate plea that’s answered by the fierce roar of the engine before he even fully gets the question out:  "Blue, _please_!"

***

The room is dark when Lance is dredged back into consciousness. From the first breath of icy cold air something feels off, like his head is floating separate from his body as his brain tries to catch up.

Maybe he dreamed his entire rescue; that this has all been one continual hallucination to only convince himself he’s escaped, and he’s really back at the table. Lance jerks forward in a panic, except rather than being held back by restraints he stumbles out of the healing pod and falls face-first onto the floor.

Right, okay then. He’s definitely awake.

"Ow," Lance grumbles into the Castle’s floor, only to tense at the sound of someone scrambling to get up with a soft, " _Shit_." Lance pushes himself up enough to see a hand grabbing at his, hauling him back up onto his feet until Keith comes into view.

"Oh." Lance blinks a couple of times, reorienting himself. "Hey, man. What time is it?"

Keith snaps his mouth shut, having apparently opened it to say—something else, before Lance’s question. Lance vaguely wonders what it was. "It’s, uh, maybe three in the morning?"

Well that’s an awful time to be awake. "Ugh, yeah, I’m gonna go to bed. Thanks for…waiting up for me? You didn’t have to—"

"Wait—" Keith makes a move like he’s going to prevent Lance from leaving, except Lance hasn’t moved yet so it just makes him aware that Keith is still holding his hand. Keith seems to realize this too, because he lets go and crosses his arms over his chest. "Lance, I—we need to talk. About—about how you keep doing this, and. Just. You can’t keep doing this, Lance, you—you were _dying_ —"

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," Lance cuts in hastily, because Keith’s voice actually _cracks_ and Lance does _not_ know how to deal with this. "You did it, you got us out, and we’re all okay in the end. So don’t you worry! Your reputation as the perfect paladin has not been tarnished."

Lance is going for joking, but rather than scoffing at his idiocy or even getting mad, Keith goes concerningly blank.

"…Sure," he finally says, voice softer than Lance would have expected, and turns away. "I’m…going to go get Coran." He’s out of the room before Lance can even think to react, leaving Lance alone and feeling like he’s missed a large part of the conversation.


	6. Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, absolutely no one gets hurt! It's a ~~Christmas~~ ~~New Years~~ January miracle!!
> 
> In all genuineness though, thank you to everyone who gave this fic a read! It's been a long while since I've managed to write, complete, and post a fanfic, so knowing there are folks out there who enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it really does mean the world <3 With that being said, here's the final chapter!

For as much as Lance’s life’s become an actual literal space opera, truly epic space battles tend to happen less often than one might think.

Of course, they’re not exactly _infrequent_ either, just often enough to constantly keep them on their toes, but not so often that they can get a solid handle on the enemy’s pattern, which makes every battle more fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants than any of them want it to be. They each have their role, though, so as long as they can coordinate, they can usually throw a plan together and save the day.

This is not a day where they are coordinating.

"I could really use some cover here!" Pidge shouts over the comms. Lance can just see a streak of Green through all the chaos and gunfire. He levels off an icy blast at one of the Galra fighter ships pursuing Pidge, but there’s not a whole lot more he can do, what with the way he’s twisting Blue out of the way of yet another too-close-for-comfort shot.

"Hunk, can you get to Pidge?" Shiro grits out. Lance has no idea where Shiro is at the moment, but he can just catch the echoes of gunfire on his side of the comms, so he’s got to be in the thick of the fight somewhere.

"I’m trying!" Hunk calls back, his voice high-pitched with panic. Lance spins Blue around until he spots the Yellow Lion in the sky, where it’s being barraged by a number of Galran ships. Which is _not_ cool, and Lance takes off in Hunk’s direction before he can think too hard about how this is probably a bad idea. "Lance?!"

"I got you, Hunk!" Lance shouts. He can see Keith in a Red out of the corner of his eye drawing fire away from Pidge the only way Keith would—by flying directly into said fire, which, judging by Pidge and Shiro’s shouting, they are none too happy with. Thankfully, Lance’s own tactics are more nuanced than that:  he slams into the ship closest to Hunk from behind, bouncing off its back and sending it spinning into the ship next to it. Together they explode with a satisfying _boom_.

His sense of victory doesn’t last long. "Yeah, take that, mother-hugger! Oh no."

The good news is Hunk is no longer under attack, for which Lance allows himself a mental pat on the back. The bad news is Lance’s maneuverings have left him face-to-face with an enemy ship powering up to fire. Lance only has enough time for the single coherent thought:  _Shit this is going to hurt_.

Lance thinks he hears someone call out his name, but it’s immediately drowned out by Hunk’s roar of, “Nope!” as he dive-bombs the Galra ship just as it fires off the shot, Keith right on his tail. There’s no chance to brace himself for impact; the Blue Lion jolts, but not in the direction he’s expecting, and Lance bounces against his seat with a yelp.

Cripes, he’s going to feel that in the morning. Lance frantically tries to reorient himself. He didn’t get hit by the blast, that much is clear, but rather than seeing Hunk or even Keith, he finds the Black Lion practically on top of him while Green hovers in front of his dash. It takes a tick to realize that at the same time Keith and Hunk dove for the Galra ship, Shiro and Pidge must have rammed their own lions into Lance’s, knocking him aside from the blast.

"Wha—"

"No you don’t!" Keith growls through the comms, and Lance immediately snaps his mouth shut, only to realize a moment later Keith’s anger was aimed at the Galra ship. Which is currently on fire. Because Keith just exploded it with his Lion. _Jesus_.

"All right, everyone, let’s form Voltron!" Shiro calls out, though Lance doesn’t have very far to go considering he’s still boxed in by Black and Green. Pidge gives him what can only be described as a friendly bump with her lion.

"H-hey, hey, easy on the goods!" he calls out, still a little thrown by what just went down. He hears her scoff through the comms.

Lance can’t help but get caught in the sense of relief that washes over the team when Red and Yellow join in formation; though, when he really focuses on it, it feels like everyone has a unified purpose that Lance isn’t quite on the same page as. Even Blue is being more purr-y than usual, and that’s saying something. She gives him a flick in the back of his mind at that, and Lance grins despite the shake in his hands. So he takes a deep breath, and does what he does best:  go with the flow.

***

In the end, it’s the Blade of Marmora showing up that wins the day. Voltron still packs a decent punch, but it’s kind of obvious when one of its limbs is ever so slightly out of sync with the others, and it’s been a long enough day that Lance is willing to admit that maybe he was kinda the source of the problem. A quick sweep of the team at least reveals no one’s gotten hurt this time around, but considering the risky moves pulled in battle, a lecture is inevitably coming for them all.

Allura lets out a soft sigh, shaking her hair out of her action-bun. Lance watches as it cascades over her shoulders; it’s a significantly better thing to focus on than the words they’re definitely about to receive. "Paladins," she begins, and Lance grimaces preemptively. "It goes without saying that this was a rough fight. There were some closer calls than strictly needed today—" Yup, _there_ it is— "however, it can still be counted as a victory, and for that, we should be proud. Good job, everyone. You’ve earned some rest." She smiles at them all before she turns away. It takes Lance a second to realize they've been dismissed.

"Wait, that’s it?" Lance says, looking at his team for support only to see everyone’s staring at him with varying degrees of incredulity. He huffs and crosses his arms. "C’mon, we’d normally be here for _hours_ if I get so much as a scratch on my Lion, but Hunk can go cannonballing into a ship and we just get a _good job everyone_ all around?"

It’s a bad imitation of Allura’s accent and Lance knows it, but rather than laughing, Hunk looks strangely abashed. Pidge, on the other hand, rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, well, you’re not in a pod, then it’s a success."

"And that has been happening more often than not as of late!" Coran chimes in before Lance can fully process what Pidge just said. He lets out a noise of protest on instinct.

"It’s not that often!"

"It kinda is, bro," Hunk says. Despite the apology in his tone, he doesn’t seem all that apologetic when Lance shoots a pout at him because _c’mon_ , man, not him too! Though—there’s a distinct lack of disagreement from the rest of the team; if anything, they all seem to be on the same page as Hunk, with Lance once again a beat behind. Shiro and Allura both seem about a tick away from a lecture, Pidge still appears to be rather miffed, and Keith—if Lance didn’t know better, he’d say Keith looks genuinely upset. He catches his eye, and Keith actually flinches back before he drops his gaze with a scowl, his arms wrapped tight across his chest.

…Has it really been that often?

"We are simply glad that you are safe," Allura says, ever the diplomat, but Lance’s thoughts are rapidly spiraling out of his control. It never really dawned on him before, but what if every time he thought he was helping his teammates, they saw themselves as having to cover for his mistakes? His attempt to rescue Hunk had ended with the entire rest of the team literally shoving him out of the fight, after all, and then his inability to play mental catch-up led to him dragging Voltron down—

"Wait, wait wait wait," Lance says, and tries not to wince when the whole team turns to face him once more. He looks to Shiro specifically. "Did you literally order we form Voltron just so you could keep a closer eye on me?"

The accusation hits truer than Lance’s actually expecting. Embarrassed is not a look he’s ever associated with Shiro, but their leader’s face turns a dusty shade of pink and he turns his head to the side with an awkward cough. Lance lets out a nervous chuckle. "Oh. Man, I know you guys think I’m incompetent, but isn’t that a little much?"

The words come out far more honest-sounding than Lance is actually intending. Hunk looks up with a startled, "What, buddy, no!" at the same time as Keith gives a flat, "What."

"Lance, what do you mean by that," Shiro says when Lance entirely fails to elaborate, his previous embarrassment replaced with leaderly concern. Lance much preferred it when he was embarrassed.

"Ah, it’s nothing to worry about, boss man," Lance tries to laugh it off, but now Allura is joining Shiro in the pointed look he’s giving him and Lance just barely bites back a groan. He has no defense against her, she _has_ to know that, and then she opens her mouth and what little will Lance has left goes flying out the window.

" _Lance_."

"Look, I’m not trying to accuse anyone of anything, it’s just a generalized observation! Besides, it’s not like it’s totally _wrong_ ," he adds without really meaning to, which only succeeds in making everyone look even more concerned than before. Lance can feel his face heating up. "It’s just, there’s only so much a normal guy can _do_ when surrounded by geniuses and prodigies and an actual magical space princess—not that I’m not awesome too, obviously, but like, you know—"

Lance waves his hand a little fruitlessly, as if that’ll fill in for the words that are failing to form in his brain. His brief bout of bravado fades, leaving him with nothing but the honesty he’s done his best to repress. God _dammit_. Lance slumps. "Everyone here has a thing they’re amazing at that makes them super important to the team, and I’m—me. I’m not—just, if I can’t contribute like everyone else, then the least I can do is make sure you guys stay safe, even if it—"

"No," Keith blurts out over him, then promptly stiffens, like he hadn’t meant to do that.

"—means I get—oh." Lance wilts. He can’t help it, his gaze dropping down to his feet. "Or not that either, okay."

Lance has more to say, but the words die in his throat. His insides feel like they’ve turned to lead; he hears Shiro sigh, and Lance’s ears burn.

"Lance, that’s not what Keith—" Shiro starts, but Keith speaks up over him in a rush, "Well if you didn’t always end up injured maybe it wouldn’t be a problem!"

Considering the shame churning in his stomach, anger is a welcome thing to latch onto. "Oh like you’re one to talk," Lance retorts. "You’re out there risking stunts all the time!"

"Except I can actually pull them off without _nearly dying every time_!" Keith snaps right back. The only reason he isn’t in Lance’s face is likely Shiro’s grip on his arm. Lance throws up his hands, ignoring the faint " _Guys_ ," from Hunk in the background.

"Look, you’re mister perfect, I _get_ it—" Keith makes a noise like he’s going to interrupt but Lance barrels right past him— "but shots slip through and sometimes you need someone to cover your back. And maybe I’m not your top choice, fine, _whatever_ , but I’m not going to stand back and let people I care about get hurt when I could have done something about it!"

"Even if it means getting yourself _killed_?"

"Yes!" It’s not a question he’s even actively thought about before, but the answer is unhesitatingly, irrevocably yes. If it means keeping his family safe then he’s willing to do a lot of stupid things, though—

It’s impossible to ignore the noise Hunk makes this time. Lance looks away from Keith to find his friend staring back at him, plainly horrified. Next to him, Pidge looks genuinely scared, and on the scale of things that are not okay, upsetting Pidge is really, _really_ not okay, fuck, he needs to backtrack, fuck, _fuck_ — "I mean, that’s like worst case scenario, it’d suck if it happened to be sure but it’s not like I’d do anything on _purpose_ —"

"Will you shut the _fuck up_ ," Keith cuts in. Lance would almost be grateful if it weren’t for the fact that Keith breaks out of Shiro’s grasp with a tug sharp enough it startles Shiro and stalks forward. Lance jerks back, half-expecting to be punched, but before he can even raise his fists to defend himself Keith is fully in his space and drops his head against Lance’s shoulder.

The fight doesn’t precisely drain out of Lance, but it does freeze as he takes in the sensation of Keith’s hair brushing against his neck. Lance’s hands hover awkwardly over Keith’s shoulder blades; suffice to say he has _no_ idea what’s happening right now.

"You don’t even know what kind of an impact you have, do you." Keith sounds weirdly defeated, and Lance can’t help but twitch at the puff of air against his collarbone. He catches Hunk’s eye and mouths _‘help???’_ , motioning down towards where Keith is _still_ resting against him like Hunk might not know that’s what the issue is. Hunk, the absolute traitor, just shrugs, badly suppressing a smirk.

"If I may," Allura speaks up. Lance jumps slightly and turns to look at her, which makes Keith jolt against him, though he doesn’t actually move away. Allura smiles at both of them, and Lance’s heart speeds up. "I believe I speak for the whole team when I say none of us want to see you hurt. It’s not meant as any sort of detriment towards your skills as a paladin, it’s that you’re our friend—we all care about you, Lance."

Lance blinks. And blinks again. He can feel his ears starting to burn again, for a very different reason this time. "It’s worth saying we don’t function the same without you, whenever you’re hurt," Allura continues, because apparently she has _more_ to say. "In fact, we frequently don’t function at all." Coran nods vigorously beside her as Lance gapes at the both of them.

"R-really?" he manages to croak out. Keith huffs what might be a laugh against his shoulder, but Lance graciously ignores him.

"Well it’s not a shock you don’t know, considering you’re always unconscious for it," Pidge deadpans. Lance puffs up to argue back, but—he doesn’t actually have a rebuttal for that.

"It never feels right, seeing you that still," Hunk adds with a shudder. Lance can see that despite her less-than-impressed expression, Pidge’s hands are still shaking slightly where she’s crossed them tight across her chest. "You’re just so—quiet, it’s not natural, dude."

"Are you calling me loud," Lance jokes weakly, though really if he didn’t already feel bad about Pidge’s reaction, he definitely feels awful now that Hunk’s upset too. Keith tightens his grip on Lance’s armor to the point where he can feel it digging into his skin. Lance offers him a very awkward pat on the arm.

"I doubt anyone would dispute it," Shiro speaks up with a wry grin, and Lance very nearly chokes on air. Then Shiro sighs and says, "I feel I owe you an apology, Lance."

Lance stares at him, utterly confused. "For roasting me just now?"

Shiro snorts at that, but nevertheless shakes his head. "I ordered we form Voltron to keep a closer eye on you, yes, but more importantly, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt—in fact, all of us wanted to make sure you didn’t get injured, it’s why we were able to form Voltron today at all. We trust you to watch our backs, Lance, but we want to be able to watch yours as well." He smiles down at Lance, and _wow_ Lance’s face is burning. "After all, we wouldn’t be Voltron without our sharpshooter."

"Oh," Lance says, and apparently that's the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He feels himself tearing up, unable to suppress the hitch in his breath, and of course _that’s_ what finally gets Keith to startle back, just in time to see Lance crumple into tears. Cool. _Awesome_.

"Uh," Keith says, his face an inexplicable shade of red, but before he can stumble any further, Hunk sweeps in and pulls Lance into a hug with a soft, "Aw, _buddy_."

"Huuuunk," Lance whines, "Hunk, I hate crying."

"Yeah, well, suck it up," Pidge pipes up, elbowing at Lance until he relents enough to let her wriggle her way into the hug. He squeezes her right back, laughing at her noise of protest even as she clings tight, though the tables are quickly turned when Shiro ruffles his hair and Lance lets out a squeak in surprise. Even Coran and the princess join in, encircling the group as a whole and squishing them all together. It’s obvious Keith doesn’t know what to do, as he eventually settles a hand on the middle of Lance’s back. Lance lets out a watery snort.

"You’re really bad at this," he says, and can’t help but laugh at the utterly offended look Keith gives him in response. "C’mon, get in here, we’re doing this proper."

Keith is surprisingly tolerant of being mashed up into Hunk’s side, offering a courtesy grumble but not actually pulling away. Shiro keeps a hand on Lance even as everyone else eventually moves back, and Lance glances up at him curiously.

"Try not to play shield too much, alright?" Shiro says softly, his voice low and just for Lance. Before Lance can even being to formulate a response, though, Hunk starts nodding.

"What he said," he says, apparently oblivious to the fact that Shiro hadn’t meant for him to hear. He nudges Lance’s arm. "I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you."

Hunk’s words draw the rest of the team’s attention; Shiro sighs, but Lance is more caught up in how everyone is looking at him. Keith’s face is still red and twisted into that perpetual scowl of his, but he stands steadfast next to Pidge as she gives Lance a pointed look, a silent reinforcement of what Hunk said. Allura and Coran both appear a touch exasperated, but nevertheless fond; Shiro still has his hand on Lance’s shoulder, Hunk is still pressed up against his side, and Lance can feel himself blushing all over again. He doesn’t know what he would do without any of them either, and—maybe that’s the point. It wasn’t incompetence that led the team to shielding him today, it was the same rush of fear and caring that drives Lance to throw himself headfirst into the fray every time.

It’s always seemed so natural to Lance to care; he’s surprised to find it's a tad overwhelming seeing those exact same feelings reflected so strongly back.

"Yeah," he says, sniffles a little, but still grins, more touched than he has the words to say. "Yeah, okay, I’ll try."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://overlymetaromantic.tumblr.com/) ! Or [twitter](https://twitter.com/metaromantic) , I promise I am occasionally active online.


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